


The Waters below Lake Superior

by Zentrifucked



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Animal Death/Animal Abuse, Light Angst, M/M, Neurological Disorders, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-04 11:24:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12770013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zentrifucked/pseuds/Zentrifucked
Summary: Percival Graves was sure he knew what kind of man Newt Scamander was. Percival Graves was wrong.-Or, how Graves learned that not everything is as it seems and that the road to recovery is rarely straight.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a quick 5+ kind of fic but evolved into an involved character study kind of piece. Heavy focus on Graves.
> 
> This story will be longish but is unfinished at this time. I have written around 18k which I will post in 4 chapters during the coming weeks. As it is always the case with me: fair warning, might not be finished.

1 

The first time Percival Graves met Newt Scamander was not the first time Newt Scamander met Percival Graves. That dubious honor went to a meeting while Percival was still recovering in a room at St. Anthony’s, mind scrambled from months spent drugged to the gills and used as a personal pensieve for a power-hungry madman intent on bringing the magic world to his heels.

Seraphina later told him that this first meeting had been quite accidental. Apparently one of Scamander’s beasts had made a run for it, as it was prone to do, and ended up in his room trying to steal everything shiny it could get its paws on, which unfortunately included Percival’s wand (or rather its silver hilt). The resulting skirmish between Scamander and his Niffler had woken him up and they had apparently held an energetic conversation – one that Percival did not remember whatsoever. 

That was, in hindsight, no surprise. The potion that Grindelwald had used to keep him complacent coupled with an extended time spend in stasis and the occasional Cruciatus curse had wreaked havoc on Percival’s mind. Especially in the first few days after his spectacular rescue from the closet of the apartment Grindelwald kept his mind had been too unstable to retain more than a fleeting feeling of recollection. According to her, Seraphina had had to explain his rescue five times to him, a process that did not become more palatable with repetition. It took days and the collective might of the hospital healers for Percival to finally retain that he had been saved, that Grindelwald was imprisoned and that his ordeal was over. It took many more weeks for him to stop losing time and some memories would most likely never be recovered. 

In this light, nobody was surprised that he was also missing most of his memory of his time as Grindelwald’s captive. The only thing he was left with from his time with the egomaniac was a deeply unsettling feeling of _understanding_ concerning the wizard; that and an almost Pavlovian response towards Grindelwald’s moods. He instinctively knew when to keep silent and when to engage; when the man wanted a conversation and when he wanted a fight. He knew how to give in, how to keep quiet and how to scream on command. He remembered that when not in a mood, Grindelwald could be an excellent conversationalist that appreciated honesty and a challenging discussion. He knew they talked at length – he just didn’t remember _what_ they talked about. All in all, his memory of the time spend with Grindelwald was a disjointed mess with no concept of time or reality that felt more like a nightmare than a true memory.

The healers were sure that his memory loss was in part to thank for the fact that Percival was this composed. Privately Percival doubted this. Reluctant to spill any more powerful magic blood and in no position to spend much time on Percival anyway, Grindelwald for all his moodiness had not been too terrible of a jailor. Percival had been hurt, yes, but it had hardly been the first time and he had healed well enough. He had his fair share of nightmares, but they would go away. They always did. 

Mostly, Percival was annoyed at having lost so much damn time. Hearing everything that had happened second-hand, no matter in how much detail, was no substitute for personal experience. And considering the sheer _incompetence_ everyone at MACUSA had displayed in his absence he needed every bit of information he could get to undo the damage Grindelwald had done. 

It was a disaster. Grindelwald, mad genius that he was, had managed to thoroughly dismantle the DMLE while he was gone and already started chipping on the foundations of MACUSA. _And no one had noticed _.__

__Percival couldn’t blame them, though in his less charitable moments he certainly wanted to. Whatever else Grindelwald may have been, he was not stupid. His infiltration had been carried out masterfully. Percival’s most trusted Senior Aurors reassigned to other parts of the country, other Aurors shuffled to different departments and the free usage of both the Imperius curse and widespread Obliviation on top of Grindelwald’s own Legilimency had ensured that the degradation of the DMLE had been silent and deadly. The slide into disarray had been so gradual and masterfully executed that even Percival’s long-time friend Seraphina had been none the wiser that Percival had been replaced. Grindelwald’s impression of him had been faultless from the beginning, and any changes in behavior so gradual and natural that nobody had thought to question them._ _

__Nobody that was, but some bumbling Brit, _that had never even met him before_. _ _

___That_ rankled him. How could a man that was by all accounts barely even fit for society see through the carefully cultivated façade that had fooled the entire of MACUSA? What did a clueless researcher have that dozens of trained Aurors were missing?_ _

__Percival knew Theseus Scamander. They had worked together during the war and kept in contact even after. Now Theseus, Percival wouldn’t have been surprised to hear about unmasking Grindelwald. Apart from being whip-smart the man had an uncanny sense for trouble and was particularly adept at sniffing out the dark arts. Wherever Theseus was he was in the midst of things, an unstoppable force to Percival’s immovable object._ _

__Percival saw none of that in his younger brother. He had heard the stories about Scamander’s escapades from several sources – Theseus included – and felt surer with every recollection that any part Newt Scamander had played in Grindelwald’s capture had been entirely accidental. No, Newt Scamander was much more likely to go out of his way to avoid this sort of trouble._ _

__Nevertheless, the man had saved them. Percival owed Newt Scamander a great debt, not only personally, but even more so as Director of Magical Security. It would be unkind and foolish not to acknowledge it and any reservations Percival had in regard to his character should surely be put aside in light of his actions. It also wouldn’t hurt to get a first-hand impression of the man, instead on having to rely on reports and rumors._ _

__It was therefore no great reach to invite the man to meet him when Scamander at last returned to America on a dreary autumn day, 9 months after the events of that dreadful winter._ _

__-_ _

__Sitting before Percival, fidgeting in his seat and being utterly unable to make eye contact Scamander all but confirmed Percival’s theories. As Percival studied him he looked entirely like a schoolboy called into the headmaster’s office. It was the kind of behavior that normally made Percival instantly suspicious and usually for good reason too. It was strangely disappointing; somehow, even though all evidence pointed the other way, he had expected something else, something more._ _

__Percival gave a silent sight. There were many other things he would have liked to do instead but this particular talk had been put off much too long as it was, and it was better to just get it over with as soon as possible._ _

__“Mr. Scamander. I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to meet earlier. I wanted to thank you in person for all that you have done for us last winter, me personally and for the wizarding community. Without your efforts, I would not be sitting here and I doubt the wizarding world would exist as we know it today. You have done us a great service.”_ _

__At his words Scamander raised his head from where he had tried to burrow into his coat before. He had large eyes, Percival noted. Large eyes and an expressive face. It was much more open than any person’s should reasonably be. His wide-eyed stare did serve to make him look any less like a schoolboy and distantly Percival thought Scamander would have made a terrible Auror._ _

__“Ah well, no – really – I hardly – it was nothing, really. Tina’s the one you should be thanking, I barely even did a thing. No need for thanks now, really.”_ _

__Percival knew of the older Goldstein’s involvement of course. Porpentina Goldstein, hand-selected by the Madame President herself, had been a promising new recruit to the department before Grindelwald had banished her to Wand Permits. Percival privately agreed that Tina had been the driving force in the events of last winter, exposing the infiltration of MACUSA while cleaning up the chaos left in Scamander’s wake. Still, it irked to see Scamander brush his contributions aside like they were nothing. He had after all, if the stories were to be believed, been the one to suspect Grindelwald first and he was the one that had provided the means to cover up the immense breach of the Statute of Secrecy in the obscurus’ wake (even though in a highly illegal and slightly dubious manner). That was no small feat._ _

__Percival tried his best to convey his sincerity, though Scamander didn’t exactly make it easy, still refusing to meet his eyes properly. “Please, there is no need to be humble. You played an essential role in the capture of Grindelwald. I doubt we would have been able to stop his plans were it not for you, and we are – I am – deeply indebted to you.”_ _

__Scamander ducked his head and rubbed his neck. “Well then, I suppose I should say – you’re welcome? Although it was truly nothing, anyone would have done the same, really.” Apparently buoyed by turn the conversation had taken Scamander shot him a quick smile. “This is a nice surprise. Tina said, but I really didn’t think – I have to say I didn’t think you wanted to see me for this, Mr. Graves. Not that it isn’t nice and all.”_ _

__Percival frowned. “Is that so. What did you think I asked you here for then?”_ _

__Scamander seemed to regret his words instantly. He flushed, an unflattering wash of redness that swallowed the freckles across his nose. He shrugged awkwardly. His chin was back to digging into his shoulder and he mumbled something almost entirely unintelligible to the floor.  
Percival frown deepened. “Mr. Scamander, is there something you need to tell me?”_ _

__This time Percival caught the words _case_ and _creatures_ and really, that was all he needed to know. He sighed and pinched his nose, already feeling a headache creeping in. “Tell me you didn’t bring that case with you. Considering what happened during your last visit.”_ _

__Scamander flushed if possible even redder, although he raised his head again. “My creatures need me Mr. Graves. There are several that need daily care and honestly, a few of them shouldn’t be handled by anyone but me. Some of them have been with me their entire life. I understand the reservations you might have, I truly do, but really, there is no need to worry. I can assure you, I know what I am doing. Nothing in my case is dangerous. And really, shouldn’t you know better than to assume they are nothing but trouble? Some of the things you were praising just a minute ago would never have been possible without them.”_ _

__Percival ‘s eyebrows raised in surprise. Well. It seemed that Scamander had a backbone after all. He might have judged too quickly after all._ _

__Of course, that was when Scamander promptly lost his courage again and dissolved into apologetic stuttering. So much for that._ _

__Percival held up a hand to stop him. “Mr. Scamander. I don’t intend to take your case or your creatures. I trust you know what you are doing and that nothing bad will come of it – this time. But I must insist that you have someone from my department look at your case and draw up the necessary documentations and permits. We are indebted to you yes, but you are still not above the law. I presume you are still in contact with Auror Goldstein?”_ _

__Scamander nodded._ _

__“Then she can evaluate the contents of your case and help you with the necessary documents. Is that acceptable?”_ _

__Scamander nodded again. His eyes were quite firmly fixed on a spot at the bottom of Percival’s wooden grandfather clock. Percival had the feeling he wasn’t going to open his mouth again any time soon._ _

__“Well then.” He stood and offered his hand. Scamander scrambled up in a flurry of limbs. His palm was clammy but his grip firmer that Percival expected, his fingers callused and rough._ _

__“It was a pleasure to meet you.” It wasn’t quite a lie. Percival was glad to have met him, if only to put a face to the name and a character to the story._ _

__Scamander nodded again and then quite literally fled Percival’s office, leaving behind nothing but a slight wetness to his hand and the faint smell of animal fur._ _


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percival gets a clue.

2 

Going back to work had been hard in the beginning. 

Percival’s little stint as Grindelwald’s prisoner had fortunately caused little physical damage. There had been a bit of muscle wastage, a few broken bones and some curse damage curtesy of the occasional torture session yes, but all in all it was nothing a few spells and potions and a little rest couldn’t cure. The real damage had been to his mind. 

Although much reduced without the constant barrage of hallucinations and confusion, Percival kept missing time. In the early days of his recovery at the Ward he skipped entire days, suddenly drawing blanks and coming to in unfamiliar places without knowing how he had gotten there or what happened in between. According to the nurses (and Seraphina, the only person bull-headed enough to talk the nurses into letting her visit) he was awake during these times, but remained unresponsive and confused, staring blankly ahead and muttering from time to time. On top of that he was occasionally plagued by crippling migraines the likes of which he had never had before.

For a brief, terrifying time nobody had been able to tell him if he would get better. Magic, after all, could not fix everything. In the end though an elderly healer had somehow procured a potion to help and it had helped to reduce his episodes drastically. Percival still suffered from blackouts, even with regular doses, but instead of hours they were only seconds, minutes at most. There wasn’t much to do for the migraines, but he found that taking a strong Tonic ensured that he could work through them so they didn’t bother him as much. Mostly. 

It should be fine. All in all, it was nothing that would affect a normal life and Percival was truly grateful that he had come out of this alive and comparatively well. He was. 

And yet.

His time as an Auror was officially over. After careful vetting and some damn good persuasion efforts curtesy of the Madame President he was able to retain his position as Director of Magical Security, seeing that it was mostly administrative, but his days in the field were done. There was no margin of error in dueling, no scenario where his episodes weren’t a risk for himself and anyone around him. Any lapse in concentration could be fatal and someone that occasionally stopped talking in the middle of the sentence to stare blankly at the wall had no place in the field. 

Of all the things Grindelwald had done to him, this was by far the worst. He could live with the torture; considering Grindelwald’s reputation it had been few and far in between. He could live with the humiliation of being captured and rescued like some damsel in distress; it wasn’t like he had ever given a damn about other people’s opinions before. 

But this – this was different. Percival had always prided himself on his iron control, his total command over every aspect of himself and his magic. Diligence and discipline had been the foundations on which he had built his live, order and strength was what he lived and breathed. He had never had to doubt himself, never had to stop and consider his limits. 

And then Grindelwald had taken him and ripped into his mind. 

Now, even after his rescue, even after his recover what was left of his mind was ruined and his memory unreliable and fickle. Percival tried, he really did, but no matter how much he pretended he could not avoid reality. He was broken, weak, _useless_. Sometimes it made him so angry he felt as though a Fireball sat in his breast. 

In the end though, there was nothing he could do about it, so he grit his teeth and pressed on. At this point, it was anyway pure spite that kept him going. Grindelwald may have crippled him, but so what? He would not let that stop him. If it was not himself out there it would be his people. He’d make his Aurors into the most terrifying force to walk this earth or die trying. Nothing would threaten his people, his city, his country like this ever again. He’d make goddam sure of it. 

As much as he hated it Percival knew he was not the man he had been before. He was harsher, colder and more relentless. Even before Grindelwald Percival had been regarded with a healthy dose of respectful fear by most of MACUSA. But now? Now everyone of MACUSA was downright terrified of him. 

It had been difficult, especially in the beginning. At least his Aurors had after a rough couple of weeks slowly begun to settle with this newer, harder version of him. He’d never been one to mix personal and professional even before and now that he burned away the last vestiges of warmth from his demeanor they responded with weary resignation. It was alright. They might not like him, but they did not have to. Percival would protect them even so.

It did, however not mean that he enjoyed it. Everywhere he turned he was met with fear and suspicion and no small amounts of guilt. Worst of all however was the pity. It made something sour and tight swell in his throat that he couldn’t swallow no matter how much he tried. He tried to limit his human contact to the bare minimum and told himself it was for the best. 

And Newt Scamander, as skittish as he was anxious, was definitely on the list of people he would like to avoid, if only to spare the poor man from more worrying. From Scamander’s perspective it doubtlessly looked like Percival was a threat to him and his creatures. It probably also didn’t help that Grindelwald had worn his face when he’d sentenced Scamander to death.

Despite what Scamander probably thought though Percival had truly no desire to make his life difficult and though he still harbored some mild curiosity concerning the Hero of New York, he had to admit he was quite content with the prospect of not having to talk to Newt Scamander ever again.  
Fate, it seemed, had other ideas. 

Only three days after Scamander had fled his office, Percival’s Aurors raided a warehouse full of unidentifiable and possible dangerous substances. Substances that even their Potions consultant couldn’t identify completely, substances, some of which the identification spells could only recognize as ‘ _of animal origin_ ’. And Newt Scamander, self-proclaimed Magizoologist, was for all his faults possibly the leading expert in magical creatures and all that had to do with them.

Percival glared at the paper on his desk. It shuddered fearfully and scuttled to hide under a memo from the International Liaisons Office begging him to put on a nice face for the delegation of wizards arriving from the Congo tomorrow. Which, really. They should know better by now. 

He tugged the letter back and skimmed the last few lines again with a frown. _Assistance urgently needed. Items possibly volatile_. This could not wait. 

He took a few seconds to weight the risks of heading out himself, but quickly decided there would be no harm. The area was well secured, the threat contained. Even if he did end up having an episode the worst he could do was embarrass himself. And this was going to be big, he could already tell, and that meant he needed to see it for himself. Plus, he did not want to have anyone else supervise Scamander. With the sheer amount of trouble that man could get into, it felt right that the responsibility of baby-sitting should fall on Percival. 

He summoned his coat as he left the office. The bullpen was almost empty, most of the Aurors up and about on assignments in the city. Tina, recently promoted to Full Auror, was bent over a paper on her desk, scribbling furiously. 

“Goldstein,” he barked.

She shot up like someone had lit a firecracker under her ass. 

“Yes, Mr. Graves, Sir!” she shouted.

He suppressed a sigh. Tina had been his mentee when she first started on recommendation of the President herself and they had been closer before the Grindelwald debacle. Now though she didn’t seem to know how to treat him anymore.

“Newt Scamander. You’re friends I take it?”

“Yes…?” she said carefully. Her wide-eyed look clearly suggested she was expecting some sort of trap. He suppressed another sigh. 

“We have some animal parts in a warehouse at the East River docks that we can’t identify. Think Scamander can help us out?”

“Oh.” More certain now that she was sure she wasn’t going to be demoted back to Wand Permits Goldstein visibly relaxed. She tucked some stray hair behind her ear and said: “Sure. If it’s from a creature, Newt will know it. I don’t think he’ll mind giving us a hand. Any live animals?”

“Not that we know of. Why?”

She grimaced. “Well, Newt has this way of making off with anything that he feels needs help, which can occasionally create some trouble. But if it’s just parts that shouldn’t be a problem. He’ll probably be really glad to help, Sir, he really hates this kind of thing.”

“Good. You got a way to contact him?”

“He’s staying with my sister and me. Don’t think he had any plans to go out tonight. I’ll get him there, Sir.” She was already grabbing for her hat that was perched precariously on a spiky plant adorning her desk.

“See that you do. Get Foley to give you the location and meet me down at the docks. And Goldstein – hurry.”

-

In the time Tina needed to fetch Scamander, Percival himself took a closer view of the situation. Most of the contents of the warehouse had already been packed up and send to Evidence, but there was still a sizeable number of unidentified items left. One of the jars was smoking peacefully while a gently glowing crate sat in the corner, seemingly resistant to most spells. Nobody had dared to open it yet. His Aurors were mostly just milling around, clearly clueless on what to do other than keep watch now that they had secured the perimeter. Bunch of idiots, really.

Thankfully, Goldstein proved to be quick. Barely ten minutes after Percival had left the Woolworth building she stepped out between two houses, Scamander at her heels. It looked like she had interrupted him doing something involving a lot of dirt; there was straw stuck in his hair and his waistcoat was buttoned up wrong over his wrinkled and stained shirt, his coat flapping in the wind.

As they hurried towards him Percival found himself surprised by the grim look Scamander was spotting. He had no qualms about meeting his eyes today, his gaze sure and steady. 

“Mr. Scamander,” he greeted the man, “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“It’s no problem. Tina said you had some animal parts you can’t identify?”

Directly to business then. Percival could appreciate that. “Yes. Goldstein, head back, we don’t need any more people here.”

“But Sir- “

“Immediately Tina. Mr. Scamander, stay close to me. We don’t know what these things might do.”

Tina looked incredible reluctant to leave but was clearly too afraid to protest any further. She shot Scamander a look between warning and worry before she turned and disapparated. 

Percival gestured towards the warehouse. “This way,” he said. He didn’t wait for Scamander to acknowledge him as he strode towards the door.

“Romano, with me.” Percival said as soon as they were inside. The small witch detached herself from the two others that were lurking by the door, as far away as possible from the most animated crates and jugs.

“Senior Auror Romano, this is Newt Scamander. He’s an expert in magical creatures and will be consulting today. Give him a quick run-down.”

“Pleasure,” she drawled. “We were alerted earlier today by a witch that saw smoke coming from the building. Given that the smoke was purple, she rightly assumed the disturbance was magical in nature and we headed down. The house was abandoned when we arrived so we forced our way in. The smoke came from some Ashwinder eggs, nothing serious. We neutralized that and started examining the rest of the items in here. Found some evidence that the place was only recently abandoned, possibly only minutes before we arrived, but nothing as to why or who was in here. There is also evidence that some items were taken before we arrived, but we can’t say for certain what it was. Most of the things they left were the standard Untradeable stuff but there’s some exotic things mixed in as well. We removed everything that we could, but there are several items that didn’t react well to magic and we don’t really want to risk anything happening before we know what we’re dealing with.”

Scamander swept his gaze around the room as she talked, his eyes coming to rest on the smoking jar. Romano followed his gaze and nodded.

“Yeah, that is what worries us most too. It started smoking when we cast an identification spell on it and we didn’t want to do anything more after that. You know what it is?”

Scamander hummed thoughtfully. “I have an idea.” He cast Percival an uncertain look. “I need to be closer though, to be really sure.”

Percival gestured to go ahead. Scamander wasted no time and hurried towards the smoke, Romano and Percival at his heels. He peered carefully at the jar, humming as he tilted his head this way and that. Then Percival almost swallowed his tongue when he dipped a finger into the powder and licked it. Romano made a strangled sound at his side. 

Scamander brightened. “I believe I know what this is. It’s powdered Erumpent horn! It must have been primed when you cast a spell on it.”

Percival frowned and peered at the jar. “The horns are fairly stable when they’re ground, aren’t they? Why’s this different?”

That got him a surprised look. Percival fought the urge to sigh and lost. “Mr. Scamander, all Aurors know what Erumpent horn does. Believe it or not, we have to deal with them fairly often when someone decides they need to blow something up.”

Scamander looked briefly remorseful before he recovered and continued. “Yes, well, but not many other people do really, since they are so seldom nowadays. And you’re right, usually powdered Erumpent horns don’t react like this. But this isn’t an ordinary Erumpent horn. You see, there is actually more than one species of Erumpent. Most people know only of the African, since it’s the most common, but there are actually several other species spread around South-Eastern Asia. It’s quite fascinating really, the African Erumpent has only one horn and is about five times the size of a- “

“Your point?” Percival interrupted what was surely to be an impressive tirade on the virtues of different Erumpent species across the world.

“Ah.” Scamander flushed. “Well, I believe this was the horn of a Malaysian Erumpent. They are almost extinct and virtually impossible to find because they are smaller and well hidden in the rain forest.” He visibly drooped as he stared at the jar. “This may very well have been one of the last of its kind.”

Romano made a sympathetic sound. Over his head she caught Percival’s eyes and raised an eyebrow. Percival helplessly shrugged back at her. It was not his fault that Scamander seemed to be a very sensitive person.

He carefully cleaned his throat. “That is all well and good Mr. Scamander, but why is it smoking?”

Scamander mournfully gazed another moment at the powder before he turned to him. “Well, that I don’t know. But the two species differ significantly in their reaction to magic. It stands to reason their horns would have different properties as well, though I am fairly sure this one will be explosive as well.”

“So how do we neutralize it?”

Scamander looked thoughtful. “You could probably detonate it in a controlled manner if you set up a shield and then triggered the explosion, but I have never actually seen what a Malaysian Erumpent does so I don’t know what kind of scale this explosion would be at. Hm.”

He chewed at his bottom lip as he contemplated the question. Percival attempted not to stare but was embarrassingly unsuccessful. “But maybe … Mr. Graves, may I try something?”

“As long as nobody will come to harm,” Percival replied dryly, although from what he knew about the man he very much doubted Scamander knew what ‘harm’ really meant for a normal person. 

“Alright.” 

Percival took a step back as Scamander got to work. The wizard transfigured a wooden spatula and used it to scoop up some of the brownish powder and deposit it on the floor of the warehouse. By then, noisy bastards that they were, the Aurors had realized something interesting was about to happen and were circling closer.

Scamander stepped back and stuck a hand inside his coat; he rummaged for a few seconds and then things took a turn for the bizarre as he withdrew a spiked foot-long fleshy leaf with a triumphant noise. Percival felt his eye twitch. That coat couldn’t be legal. 

As Scamander gripped the leaf firmly by the tip and stepped towards the small mound of smoking powder, Percival carefully drew his wand. Next to himself he could feel Romano stand to attention. Unaware of the sudden tension in the room, Scamander carefully squeezed the plant and a large amount of greenish translucent goo dropped unceremoniously onto the powder.

For a second, nothing happened. Then, with a loud hiss, the powder liquified and started bubbling beneath the pile of goo. Alarmed Percival stepped forward and tugged Scamander behind himself. 

Nobody moved. Percival could feel the hot line of Scamander’s body as he pressed against him trying to look over his shoulder. The powder bubbled violently for a few moments before it settled down with a last defiant wheeze. 

It took some seconds for the tension to leave the room as everybody seemed to accept that nothing more exciting was going to happen. Percival swore he could hear someone sigh with disappointment. Scamander stepped around him and crouched down to inspect the pile of goo. Percival had to battle the urge to grab him by his collar and tug him back. He seemed to have to battle a lot of urges when Scamander was around. 

“Well, that was interesting,” Scamander said as he poked the mixture with his wooden spoon. “I suspected the gel would neutralize the magic, but I didn’t think I’d get this sort of reaction.”

Percival stepped closer as well, pocketing his wand as he went. “What was that plant?”

Scamander turned and shot him a wide smile. “ _Aloe fomenta_. It grows in tropical places where the earth is saturated with magic. There is a lot of it at Castelobruxo, but unless you know it exists you wouldn’t be able to distinguish it from ordinary _Aloe vera_. It’s used in all sorts of poultices to treat superficial wounds and scabs like dragon pox sores, but I found it also pretty much negates any sort of magic concoctions if you use enough of it. Dropped a clipping of it in a potion that I was making, and it basically turned it into colored water. It’s really useful though- “

A load burping sound had everybody jump around and draw their wands as a pocket of the goo suddenly burst violently. Percival’s magic flared and instinctively moved to shield himself, but it was useless. He barely had time to close his eyes before he felt the gel splatter his face. 

There was silence as everybody attempted to figure out what had happened. Percival stood stock-still. He could feel a glob of goo slowly sliding from his hair and down his face, leaving a sticky trail. As he stood there, slimy paste everywhere, he silently cursed ever meeting Newt Scamander.

Percival slowly opened his eyes. Scamander crouched before him like a lizard facing a dragon. His back and hair were splattered with pieces of goo and he looked absolutely mortified. Romano, who had been shielded by Percival’s bulk, made another strangled sound.

“It’s also quite good for the skin…?” Scamander tried hesitantly.

Percival closed his eyes and slowly counted to ten. When he felt he could speak again without hexing Scamander into oblivion, he let out a slow breath and wiped the gel from his face.

“Right.” He growled. “Scamander, you have any more of that so we can neutralize the rest? This time ideally a bit more controlled?”

“Ah yes,” Scamander hastily replied. “I’ll go get it?”

“You do that. Romano, with him. In the meantime, why are all of you just standing around gawking?” There was a rustle movement as everyone was suddenly quite busy cataloguing this and that. Percival glared around the room while Scamander quickly scuttled out of the warehouse, Romano close behind. Then he carefully tried to remove the goo still clinging to his person. And because this was absolutely not his day it proved indeed to be completely resistant to any sort of magic. 

-

After Scamander and Romano returned with armfuls of the fleshy plant, things thankfully got back on track. They quickly neutralized the remaining powder and while one of the Aurors cleaned up the huge mound of goo, Scamander and Percival quickly made their round across the room, tagging items as they went, the rest of the Aurors on their heels. 

Most of the remaining items turned out to be rare, but relatively harmless. There was a close call with a poisonous fang that was hidden under a cloth, but everything else could be easily identified and neutralized using a variety of charms and spells. The glowing crate contained dried Marmites, which were apparently perfectly harmless.

With every new box they opened however, Scamander became more miserable. Where he had been confident at the beginning he now stuttered and mumbled, clearly distraught. Uncomfortable with the realization that this was obviously very emotional for the man, Percival left him in a corner of the room so he’d hopefully regain his composure while he coordinated with his Aurors.

When he turned some minutes later to tell Scamander to head home for the day, Percival found the corner he’d left him in empty. He panicked for a moment before he spotted that atrocious coat in the back of the room, Scamander crouching half-hidden behind some crates.

Already halfway to furious he made his way over. Any reprimand about walking off without a word however died in his throat when Percival drew closer.   
Scamander was crying. His head was bent over his hands, holding some sort of silvery pelt. Silent tears were dripping down his chin and onto the fur. _Mooncalf_ , Percival’s brain supplied helpfully. _He said it was a Mooncalf pelt earlier_. He hesitated. Scamander was clearly distressed and Percival was not the right kind of man to comfort another. But it felt wrong to just walk away.

As if sensing his inner conflict, Scamander spoke in a wobbly voice. “You know, you don’t even need to skin them. They are perfectly happy to be shorn and the wool has the same properties as the pelt.” He hiccupped quietly. “I have some Mooncalves in my case. They are just so – sweet. They want nothing more than to dance in a field under the full moon. They can’t hurt a soul. I’ll never understand it. Why would anyone do this?”

Percival had no answer. He quietly crouched down, unsure what he could offer more than the dubious comfort of his presence. “If it’s any help,” he said carefully, “we will find who responsible for this. They _will_ be convicted.”

Scamander laughed, a bitter sound that made Percival’s insides twist. “And what will they be convicted of Mr. Graves? Illegal trading? Endangering the Statute of Secrecy? You have no laws in place to protect any of these creatures. It’s just ‘for the good of wizardkind’ here and ‘to protect the Statute’ there. No one gives a damn about the creatures, not really. They just want them for their parts.”

Percival breathed in sharply. _They just want them for their parts_. After being stuffed in a closet and having his memories ripped away piece by piece he had an inkling what that was like. For the first time he thought he could maybe understand why Scamander felt the way he did.

In the silence that spread between them Scamander sniffled one last time and then carefully placed the pelt on a nearby crate. “I’m sorry. That was unprofessional of me.”

“Don’t apologize. You have every right to be upset.”

Scamander nodded. He rubbed his eyes and stood, Percival following cautiously. Scamander’s eyes were fixed somewhere around his chin and he took a deep breath before he spoke. “Well. Whoever this was, they must have a lot of money and connections. There were some very rare and expensive items in here. I’d say this is no small operation.”

“I think you are right.” Percival felt immensely glad to put the conversation back on neutral ground. “We will look into this carefully. I do hope that we might draw on your knowledge again Mr. Scamander. It might prove useful.”

Scamander swallowed. His eyes were still glossy and red. “Of course,” he said hoarsely. “Whatever I can do to help.”

Percival studied him for a second. Scamander looked utterly tired, as if being in the room alone was draining his strength. “Go home,” he said softly, “I believe we are done for today. I’ll have Goldstein contact you if we need anything else.”

Scamander nodded and shot him a wobbly smile before he turned to leave. He did not look back.

Percival thoughtfully watched him go. His shoulders were drooped and his step heavy, exhaustion visible in every line of his body. 

Perhaps Percival had been wrong in his first assessment after all. Scamander did not seem like a man that would dodge any sort of responsibility, as unpleasant as it may be. Percival still didn’t think he’d make a good Auror, but he seemed like a good man, a good man with a gentle heart that was almost too soft for this world. 

Percival would have to be very careful. He would hate to see such a kind heart crushed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where it got much more serious than I originally planned. This is also where Graves mystery condition gained significantly more significance than I ever planned. In the end I got lost in the black hole that is google and now this is all based on some real condition - which makes this fickle as I do not have that condition, nor do I know anyone who has that condition. If I portrayed it inaccurately I apologize. (And now I realise that it will still take 2 chapters until it is clear what condition I am talking about but I wanted to put this out here anyway.)
> 
> Go shout at me @zentrifucked.tumblr.com if you liked it.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like it come shout at me @ zentrifucked.tumblr.com


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